


A Touch Of Cotton Candy (and a taste of sin)

by authorinprogress97



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (okay maybe the slightest smidge of plot), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups is Whipped, Dom Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Dom/sub Undertones, Lee Jihoon | Woozi Is Bad At Feelings, M/M, Mansae Era, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Studio Sex, Sub Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, This is pure filth, Topping from the Bottom, Verbal Humiliation, Vibrators, the feelings happened and i don't know how
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 01:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorinprogress97/pseuds/authorinprogress97
Summary: Jihoon has this tendency to look like the fluffiest little thing this side of Seoul and Seungcheol is pretty sure he’s in love with that look. (Or maybe he's just in love.)On the other hand, Jihoon mightlookfluffy, but he's not as soft and squishy as his looks might suggest. In fact, just don't test him (like Seungcheol regularly does) or you'll be in for a surprise.





	A Touch Of Cotton Candy (and a taste of sin)

**Author's Note:**

> this is pure filth and has also been sitting in my wips for three years. that's also why this is set in mansae era :3 that and because i'm in love with [this look](https://twitter.com/k_sweaterpaws/status/669739130801143809?lang=en) of jihoon's and i imagine that seungcheol and i share at least one one brain cell and both would get down on our knees because of that.
> 
> happy early jicheol day! have some utter sin and porn uwu

Oh no. _Oh_ no.

He’s doing it again. He probably doesn’t _mean_ to do it, but he’s doing it anyway.

Seungcheol has a weakness. As leader of twelve other boys, he probably shouldn’t, but he has one big, crippling weakness.

Lee Jihoon.

It’s actually not as broad as that. Sure, Seungcheol will admit to being a little soft when it comes to all things Jihoon, but what he’s _really_ weak-kneed for is when Jihoon is dressed the exact opposite of how he acts – basically, when he’s dressed as the cutest little thing the coordi noonas could dream of.

He thought it was bad when they dyed Jihoon's hair strawberry syrup, but it got so much worse.

Damn the coordi noonas.

When Jihoon walks out of the dressing room in an adorably sour mood, Seungcheol nearly chokes on his tongue. The dark pink sweater is too big, hanging off Jihoon's slight frame. The vocal unit leader hates the fact that his shoulders are narrow, but Seungcheol thinks they’re perfect. His arm fits snugly around those perfect shoulders that are… currently encased in soft, fuchsia cotton that is honestly doing things to his… everything.

“What?” Jihoon snaps. It’s somewhere between very cute and extremely infuriating that the yellow smiley face emblazoned across Jihoon's chest is in direct contrast to the scowl on his pretty pink lips. The ripped jeans only gives Jihoon the look of fluffy bunny trying too hard to be punk rock.

Has Seungcheol ever mentioned that he thinks Jihoon looks _exquisite_ (that word stays firmly in his mind space, especially regarding Jihoon) in pink? He absolutely adores the colour on the younger and he doesn’t care that it’s a supposedly feminine colour. Jihoon could make any colour masculine, in Seungcheol's very biased opinion.

Pfft, who needs masculinity? All he wants is Jihoon.

Oh, wait. Shit, Jihoon asked a question, didn’t he? Play it cool, Seungcheol. Cool as a Seoul winter.

“You look adorable, Jihoonie.” _Nope, fucked that up royally._ So much for keeping his cool. He thinks he heard Jeonghan mutter _nice knowing you, Seungcheol_ under his breath.

Seungcheol's known Jihoon for so long that the rapid reddening of Jihoon's ears can only mean one thing – a verbal bashing full of expletives, Busan satoori optional.

God, he hopes the satoori doesn’t come out. Seungcheol finds it inexplicably hot and it’s so embarrassing to pop a boner when he should be chastised. (He tries not to think of the many times that has happened in the past and how… _willing_ Jihoon was afterward to help him fix his problem.)

“Fuck you,” Jihoon snarls, flipping the elder off. Okay, Seungcheol totally deserves that.

“Would you really?” Seungcheol teases, fluttering his eyelashes and earning a jacket in his face. He’s lucky it wasn’t the hair straightener.

Before Seungcheol can study the different shades of red Jihoon's face can turn, Seungkwan interrupts at exactly the wrong (or right, depending on where you’re standing) moment. “Save it for the bedroom,” Seungkwan complains.

“Seungkwan!” Hansol exclaims, pale face blotching red as he elbows the vocalist. “You can’t just – _oh my god_.”

It’s probably an open secret by now that Seungcheol and Jihoon have _something_ going on (although he can never find the time to sit Jihoon down and clarify what, exactly, that _something_ is), but Seungcheol had been hoping they were a little more discreet than that.

He can’t see how they’re that obvious. It can’t possibly be the way Seungcheol clings to Jihoon, or all the times Jihoon orders Seungcheol to clock extra hours in the studio so they can bounce ideas off one another – which may or may not lead to someone being fucked against the mixer.

“Drool,” Jisoo says casually. If it weren’t for the fact that Seungcheol was the only one next to him, the leader never would have known it was for him. He wipes at his mouth, blinking when his fingers come away dry. Ah, yes – Jisoo’s code for _check yourself, you’re too obvious_. Open secret it may be, but it’s still a _secret_. For all the rest of the band members know, Seungcheol and Jihoon just have very intense fights when everyone is gone. They _have_ known each other for too long. It’s not out of the ordinary. They bicker all the time and recording is both tense and exciting for both of them.

Seungcheol licks his lips subconsciously. _God_, Jihoon in the recording studio. He hates how much he <strike>loves</strike> likes hearing Jihoon tell him what to do. It has shivers running down his spine and tingles tickling his fingertips.

Their manager is calling them all out and, running on auto-pilot, Seungcheol starts off the head count. “One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

Jihoon stands next to him, lingering as the other kids (it doesn’t matter that they’re less than half a decade younger, that his two fellow leaders are his dongsaengs, that Jeonghan and Jisoo are among them – they’re all his children, one way or another) file out. No one questions it, although Wonwoo does give Jihoon a lingering glance that tells Seungcheol absolutely nothing.

As the last member calls out _thirteen_, Jihoon goes to follow. Seungcheol hooks a finger in Jihoon's too-long sleeve and bites back a grin. The younger stops immediately, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye; his confused frown is barely concealed.

“What?” This time, Jihoon's tone is much less hostile. Seungcheol thinks it’s because there are no members around to put on a show for.

The rapper takes his time, running his gaze over Jihoon's entire outfit slowly. He grins toothily, sharp-teethed and heavy-lidded. He doesn’t miss the way Jihoon's throat works as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Warm enough?” he enquires and he’ll be damned if his voice isn’t gravelly. _If Jihoon knew the things he did to Seungcheol's libido…_

The corner of Jihoon's lips quirk in an unmistakeable smirk. Well, fuck. Seems like he knows _exactly_ what he does. “The sweater’s thick. It’ll be fine,” the younger answers nonchalantly. Seungcheol can feel Jihoon's deceptively delicate wrist twist under the sleeve, fingers wrapping around Seungcheol's wrist. If Seungcheol was a lesser man, he’d be embarrassed by the way his breath hitches at the gentle pressure.

To anyone listening in, the conversation is innocent enough. Just a hyung looking out for his dongsaeng.

But if they look closer, they might see the heat in Jihoon's eyes, carefully guarded, but simmering under the surface. Seungcheol can see the way Jihoon's tongue swipes against his lips briskly; it’s not meant to be sensual, but Seungcheol's blood boils anyway.

_Later_, Jihoon's gaze says.

He can’t fucking wait.

Seungcheol groans as he’s slammed against the door, Jihoon's lips working frantically at the column of his neck. “Fuck, Jihoon, slow down.”

“Shut up,” Jihoon snaps, hands ripping away Seungcheol's cardigan. It flutters to the ground, the dark blue blending into the dark carpet of the recording studio. “It’s all your fucking fault.”

Seungcheol somehow manages a chuckle even as Jihoon's cold hands slip under his shirt. “_My_ fault?” he repeats, cocking an eyebrow. “I didn’t do shit.”

“Liar.” Jihoon's agitated, taking control of the entire situation. His voice is hoarser than usual and _damn_ if that’s not the sexiest thing Seungcheol has heard all of his life. “That stunt you pulled this morning – you didn’t have to eye-fuck me in front of everyone like that.”

“I didn’t,” Seungcheol gasps, “eye-fuck you.”

“Fucking _liar_.” Jihoon's fingers go to Seungcheol's chin, tilting his face downwards so Jihoon can glare up at him (Jihoon's at least a head shorter, but it’s so obvious he’s the one in charge right now). “The way you looked at me… you have no idea how much I wanted to take you then.”

“Then _take me_.” The demand is a breathy whisper. Seungcheol knows he doesn’t have the authority to demand anything, but he does anyway. It’s in the way Jihoon _snatches_ the power – lets Seungcheol be a follower again – that makes all of _this_ so much better.

Jihoon leans up on his toes, nails scratching Seungcheol's scalp as he crushes his lips to the elder’s. Jihoon kisses him like he’ll run out of air, like he’s desperate for the taste of Seungcheol's mouth and longs to drink in the sounds he knows Seungcheol will make. He’s fierce and direct – much like the way he speaks to people.

The clash of teeth and tongue say more than Jihoon ever will. It’s a claim; only Jihoon will ever get to have Seungcheol like this. The leader is more than okay with that. He’d give Jihoon his everything if he thought Jihoon would accept it in good grace (and he probably won’t, which is why he’ll have to keep it for himself).

Seungcheol can’t breathe as Jihoon's wicked tongue plays him expertly; it swipes at Seungcheol's bottom lip repeatedly before he’s drawing into his mouth, teeth scraping the tender flesh. The elder gasps; he can feel his little pink vixen smirk.

“Pretty,” Jihoon murmurs, tugging Seungcheol down by the hair. Seungcheol's bent over at an awkward angle, but he can’t find it in himself to complain. It’s perfect, the way his bottom lip feels swollen and sensitive.

He clutches at Jihoon's waist as the younger presses him into the door. He looks deceptively weak. Seungcheol could probably pick Jihoon up, but he _knows_ Jihoon could win in a drag-down fight between the two of them; pinning him to a door is nothing. “Only for you,” he says huskily and Jihoon narrows his eyes.

“Really, just me?” There’s an irritated edge in the younger leader’s voice. His voice drops, in pitch and volume. “That’s not what Jeonghan told me.”

Seungcheol's eyes widen. His breath hitches, heat rising up his neck. “Jihoon – ”

“You and Doyoon hyung? And I had to hear about it from _Jeonghan hyung_?”

Shit. Fucking _shit_. The raven-haired boy forces his lips into a placating grin. “Jihoonie – ”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jihoon snarls, driving his fist into the wood of the door. Seungcheol doesn’t jump, eyes fixed on the twisted expression on Jihoon's face. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

“Jihoon, please,” Seungcheol sighs. He _needs_ him to understand. “It was a long time ago, before us – ”

“You couldn’t have told me?” Jihoon's ears are red; Seungcheol regrets that the cause is anger, not arousal. The younger is the furthest thing from intimidating, in the damned fluffy sweater that is still doing horrible things to Seungcheol's libido.

Hands fist in Seungcheol's white t-shirt, bringing his face down to Jihoon's eye-level. He’s hunched awkwardly, but he can’t complain; he gets to see the swirling anger and burning arousal in Jihoon's eyes up close.

Seungcheol's eyes drop to Jihoon's lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own lips. His mouth is dry from the proximity and the silent command (_don’t you fucking dare touch me_). “It didn’t mean anything,” he gasps.

“Bullshit,” Jihoon spits hoarsely. He’s gripping Seungcheol's jaw again, fingers strong and unforgiving. “I told you about Wonwoo, but you couldn’t afford me the same courtesy?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

That is obviously the wrong thing to say. The anger flares in Jihoon's eyes, red hot, before it’s gone. His gaze turns calculative and Seungcheol can’t help the shiver down his spine as his lover’s grip loosens into a gentle caress. If the gentle touch had been by anyone else, it would have been a relief. But not Jihoon.

Jihoon's different. Leniency only brings a harsher punishment.

“Get on the sofa,” Jihoon orders softly. His voice is even and expresses no particular emotion – like a blank slate or a block of ice. Positively chilling. He pulls away and Seungcheol chases the touch. A smirk curls Jihoon's lips. “_Now._”

When Jihoon gets like this, Seungcheol can’t argue even if he wanted to (and he never does). But he doesn’t move. One of the things he finds so goddamned attractive (and infuriating) about his favourite little producer is how goddamned stubborn he can be, and Jihoon never disappoints.

When Seungcheol hesitates a heartbeat too long, Jihoon's hand is back on his shirt collar, almost bodily throwing him onto the sofa they keep in the recording studio. Seungcheol grunts, but keeps his complaints to himself. He can already tell he’s going to get it. He doesn’t need to make it worse.

“What should I do to you?” Jihoon muses, movements slow and predatory. He looms over Seungcheol and the latter bites back a comment about Jihoon not being that much taller even when Seungcheol's sitting. “Strip.”

“Jihoon – ”

“Shirt and pants off.” Jihoon's sweet voice is harsh as he easily slips into a dominating tone, the satoori he usually keeps restrained allowed to let loose. God, if Seungcheol wasn’t already hard, he would be now.

He stands to take his clothes off, but even the height doesn’t shift the power. Jihoon is completely in control as he stares boldly at every inch of skin Seungcheol bares. There’s no shame; it’s not the first time Jihoon took his time to drink in the elder’s body as he willingly shows it. Jihoon's gaze lingers on the tent in Seungcheol's boxers.

_Fuck_. Seungcheol's so hard, he aches. He clenches his hands into fists so he doesn’t reach out for Jihoon prematurely. His time will come. He just has to be patient. Being with Jihoon (_but are they really together?_) is a lesson in patience.

The fabric of the sofa is rough against his sensitive skin. He lets his eyes flutter shut – the sight of Jihoon in the damned sweater is too much – but Jihoon is barking an order for him to keep his eyes open and watch him. Seungcheol struggles to open his eyes, but manages it anyway –

Just in time to see Jihoon drop to his knees.

“Jihoon,” he chokes out, but a sharp look from his fellow leader has him quietening. Seungcheol can’t move, even as Jihoon works his boxers down his legs, leaving the black-haired boy completely naked.

A shudder ripples down Seungcheol's spine. It’s so wanton, the way he’s completely exposed to Jihoon while the younger is still fully clothed, still in that damn sweater that causes arousal to swirl, hot and persistent, in his belly.

Jihoon smirk sharpens, swollen lips twitching upwards in a derisive smile, and a groan tears itself out of Seungcheol's throat. “Look at you,” Jihoon murmurs, thumb brushing the head of Seungcheol's weeping cock. Seungcheol chokes on a moan, arching into Jihoon's teasing fingers. “Hot and desperate already?”

“Please,” he chokes out, strangled.

The pads of Jihoon's fingers are rough – borne from years of playing the guitar. His sensitive cock feels every callous, twitching whenever his little strawberry-haired devil smears precum over the especially sensitive head.

The heat in Jihoon's eyes is scorching, but Seungcheol can’t tell if it’s from anger or pure, unadulterated lust. All he knows is that he wants everything Jihoon is willing to give him.

His legs are folded, exposing himself to Jihoon's hungry gaze. It should be demeaning, but he could never think that; not when he knows Jihoon will treat him so gently afterwards.

The younger’s fingers venture downwards, gently tracing patterns over his balls before pressing against his entrance.

“_Fuck_,” Seungcheol groans, dragging the syllable out. His head falls back, hitting the wall, but the slight pain is nothing when compared to the arousal pumping hard and fast through his body.

The pressure increases and all Seungcheol can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. Nothing matters except for the pad of Jihoon's almost too rough finger pressed against his puckered entrance. His lover guides one of his hands to his thigh, holding him open and Seungcheol gets the picture. There’s a satisfied quirk to Jihoon's lips and Seungcheol flushes, red spreading across his chest and creeping up his neck.

“Aren’t you just the prettiest?” Jihoon's voice cuts through the haze. It’s barely a whisper, but Seungcheol hears it so well – maybe even better because the words are pressed into the skin of Seungcheol's inner thigh, too close to his hard cock and not nearly close enough.

“Not as pretty as you,” Seungcheol wheezes, breath hitching when the pressure doesn’t ease up. Jihoon's threatening to go in dry and it’ll hurt like a bitch… but Seungcheol's not sure it won’t feel good.

“That mouth of yours… I should punish you.”

The most wanton sound filters through the air. It’s a moment before Seungcheol realises it came from him – _is_ coming from him. It’s the most desperate sound and he can hardly believe that he’s the one who produced it.

“I should,” Jihoon continues, “but I won’t. I don’t want you to enjoy this.”

“Liar.”

Jihoon's hand is warm as it smacks against the elder’s thigh. It leaves a sting that goes straight to Seungcheol's cock and he lets out another loud moan. Dimly, he’s thankful the recording room is soundproof.

“Quiet,” Jihoon snaps.

His tiny producer moves away then. Seungcheol whimpers; he feels cold without Jihoon's touch. The elder tries to open his eyes, but he can feel Jihoon's rough palm against his eyelids. “Keep your eyes closed,” Jihoon orders quietly. The authority in his voice sends shivers down Seungcheol's spine. “Open them when I say so.”

All he can hear is the rustling of clothing, the muted clink of a belt as it hits the floor. Anticipation has Seungcheol shuddering, his eyes still clamped shut out of pure willpower. He wants to watch Jihoon strip, see those pale hands work denim and cotton away from that luscious body. Seungcheol can picture the pretty pink Jihoon's body would flush, the dark brown of Jihoon's nipples; the younger is so sensitive there, always crying out the moment he feels Seungcheol's mouth close around a hard bud.

Some days, Jihoon will let Seungcheol have his way, let _Seungcheol_ lead for once. Every single time, the power is too much, until he’s begging for Jihoon to break him down and fuck him. But only after he’s made Jihoon come more than once. After that, his Jihoon is always pliant little kitten, curling up against Seungcheol for a light nap before they re-join the others.

Seungcheol is so distracted by his inner monologue (_god I hope he lets me do that again_) that the lube-slicked finger comes as a shock. He lets out a surprised moan, trying to rock down on the finger even as the pressure disappears. He can hear Jihoon's amused smirk, _feel it_ as Jihoon presses kisses along Seungcheol's inner thigh.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol gasps, unexpectedly loud in the quiet of the room. The younger doesn’t respond other than to slip his slicked-up finger back into Seungcheol's hole, thrusting slowly. A whimper slips out as he resists the urge to fuck down onto Jihoon's slim fingers, biting back a moan when the rough pad of Jihoon's finger presses down on his prostate.

Another finger is slipped in, then another. Seungcheol lets his head fall back, knowing Jihoon is watching his every reaction. Seungcheol hisses as a cool hand wraps around his cock, the friction welcome but unsatisfying.

“Don’t tease,” he hisses, whining when Jihoon squeezes.

“You don’t get to give orders,” the younger says coldly. _I’m in charge_, Jihoon doesn’t have to say. Seungcheol can feel it in every nerve of his body. His voice sends shivers down Seungcheol's spine – simultaneously sweet and rough, fully dominant.

“_Jihoonie_.”

He sounds breathless and hot for it as Jihoon crooks his finger up into his prostate. Seungcheol feels warm air puffing against the head of his cock and whines, breath caught in his throat as Jihoon opens his mouth, hot and wet, and sucks on the swollen head.

Jihoon moans, vibrations going down Seungcheol's cock. His walls tighten around Jihoon's fingers, toes curling into the faux-leather of the couch. The younger flicks his tongue against Seungcheol's slit – Seungcheol lets out a yell, hips bucking up. As if he had been anticipating it, Jihoon pulls back completely – his mouth, his fingers, even the hand wrapped around the base of his cock.

A gasp leaves Seungcheol's mouth. His nails dig into the flesh of his thighs as he struggles to calm down, clenching around nothing and cock throbbing. He swallows down a sob, head falling back as their safe word settles on the tip of his tongue.

“Open your eyes.”

The elder obeys without hesitation, blinking to get used to the absence of darkness. A moan is torn from his throat as he admires Jihoon kneeling in front of him. His cheeks are flushed, the blush trailing all the way to his ears. His hair is a tousled mess, but what really draws Seungcheol's attention is the soft pink sweater still draped across Jihoon's slight frame.

“Jihoonie,” Seungcheol breathes, a shudder running through him. He feels himself twitch, the head smearing precum across his trembling stomach.

Jihoon's lips tilt into a smirk, alluring and wicked. “Like what you see?” he purrs, hands trailing up Seungcheol's thighs and settling over the elder’s own. “I know how much you liked the sweater. You couldn’t stop looking at me all day.”

Seungcheol darts his tongue out to swipe at his lips wetly, his throat going dry. He wasn’t under the impression that he was being subtle, but there’s something so fucking _hot_ about Jihoon knowing him so well. This isn’t the first time they’ve fucked – won’t be the last time either – and it just gets better every single time, with every single thing Jihoon learns about him.

“Jihoon,” he whimpers, unable to think of anything to say except the pink-haired boy’s name. Jihoon's eyes soften, lips curving upwards in a small smile.

“What do you want?” Jihoon asks, voice soft, but firm. His hands trace patterns onto Seungcheol's sensitive skin as he mouths up Seungcheol's thigh, nipping along the pale skin.

The elder’s grip tightens, back arching from the sensation of Jihoon leaving marks along his inner thighs. _Only for me_, Jihoon seems to be trying to say with that simple gesture.

Jihoon stands up, letting Seungcheol see the curve of his cock, the tip beading with precum. He doesn’t seem angry anymore; if anything, he looks just as wrecked as Seungcheol, with how dishevelled he looks. Jihoon's pupils are dilated and his hands shake slightly as he presses the tip of his cock to Seungcheol's entrance.

Seungcheol's breath freezes in his throat as a garbled moan makes its way out of his mouth. Jihoon mouths up his chest, sliding in a little bit more with every nip. Jihoon's name rips out of his throat on a cry when Jihoon flicks his nipple and pinches, hard. The pain melds into pleasure, making the pleasure coil tighter in his belly.

He can’t even recognise the voice that’s breathlessly repeating _please, Jihoonie, please_, a vaguely recognisable Daegu satoori sprinkled amongst the desperate mantra. Jihoon's fully seated now, making Seungcheol feel so _full_. He wants to move, rock his hips down and _make_ Jihoon fuck him, but the last time he did that didn’t quite end well for him (Jihoon had Seungcheol on his hands and knees and left red handprints along his thighs; they made it impossible for Seungcheol to sit without wincing).

“Want me to move?” Jihoon asks, voice deepening as he slips into his native dialect – so similar to Seungcheol's own, yet distinctively different. “You want me to fuck you, hyung?”

“_Please._”

“Hands on the couch.”

The leader’s fingers curl into the faux leather without hesitation. It kills him, not being able to touch, but he’d do anything as long as Jihoon would fuck him the way he needs to be fucked.

“Please move,” Seungcheol whines, head falling back against the soft cushions. He feels too hot, his skin too tight. He needs Jihoon to move – needs some friction _somewhere_ before he combusts.

“_Look at me_.”

A sob tears out of Seungcheol's throat as he forces his eyes open. Jihoon's dark gaze meets his – and Jihoon holds the stare as he slowly pulls out, making Seungcheol feel every excruciating inch. Seungcheol's mind goes fuzzy. Even the slightest whisper of friction has Seungcheol close to exploding.

Jihoon pauses right before his cock slips out, Seungcheol's entrance held open by the head of Jihoon's cock. Seungcheol's mouth feels dry, but he can still hear his broken voice crying out for Jihoon to _please, fuck, need you to move, Jihoonie._

Jihoon bares his teeth. His nails bite into the sensitive skin of Seungcheol's inner thighs as he fucks back into Seungcheol, right into his prostate.

Seungcheol's back arches as he cries out, eyes glazed and unfocused. He hears Jihoon let out a cruel laugh, before he’s starting up a slow but hard pace. With every thrust, he brushes Seungcheol's prostate and it’s all Seungcheol can do to hold on and not come on the spot. After all, Jihoon never said he could.

In the haze of getting fucked, Seungcheol almost doesn’t hear Jihoon's muttering.

“Fuck, so tight.”

Jihoon's nails claw down his thigh, leaving red welts on Seungcheol's skin.

“So fucking hot. Look at you, ready to break for me.”

Seungcheol breathes out a whine at the brush of chapped lips against his knee.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fucking _slut_, take my cock.”

“_Jihoon_.”

Jihoon's teeth sinks into the taut flesh of Seungcheol's thigh, right above his knee. It’s almost enough to break skin. Seungcheol lets out a guttural moan, his back arching off the couch as the pain-pleasure shoots up his spine.

Seungcheol barely feels it when Jihoon's hips stutter. Jihoon bites down harder, almost enough to break skin, as he spills into Seungcheol's fluttering hole.

Seungcheol almost cries from the sensation of being filled without coming. He’s still so hard, unable to come without being touched. Jihoon's hips are slowing down. Seungcheol can’t breathe.

He can hear incoherent babbling filling the studio.

“Please, Jihoon, _please_. I’ll be good, I’ll listen to you. Please, Jihoonie. _Please_, don’t leave me like this.”

Oh. It’s Seungcheol.

He can’t even recognise his voice. It’s raw and hoarse, the syllables crashing into each other. Jihoon's fingers are gentle as they brush Seungcheol's wet cheeks. He’s crying.

“Shh, you’re so good,” Jihoon whispers. His voice cracks, pupils still blown wide even though he’s just come.

The sloppy, wet sound of Jihoon fucking his softening cock into Seungcheol's fluttering hole is utterly _filthy_. Seungcheol wants to memorise the sound forever. He doesn’t even realise that he’s hiccupping, his entire body shifting with every hitched breath. He’s trying to grind down onto Jihoon's cock subconsciously.

Jihoon finally stills, groaning low in his throat. Seungcheol can feel himself clenching around Jihoon's cock, dreading the moment he’ll pull out and leave him empty and used. (Seungcheol can’t pretend he hates the feeling. There’s nothing more he’d like than to feel Jihoon's cum seeping out of his hole, making a mess everywhere. He loves it more than he’ll admit.)

“Jihoon, _Jihoon_,” Seungcheol blubbers.

He’s still clutching the sofa, unwilling to disobey Jihoon. He’s so far gone, willing to do _anything_ to please Jihoon. If he’s good, maybe Jihoon will let him come.

“You’re so good, hyung,” Jihoon coos, running gentle fingers through Seungcheol's hair. Seungcheol whimpers, pressing into Jihoon's touch hungrily. His cock is still red between them, weeping precum onto Seungcheol's stomach.

“Jihoonie, please. Can I – ”

“No,” Jihoon says decisively.

Seungcheol can’t hold back a sob. His thighs tremble, a cry ripped from his lips as Jihoon pulls out of Seungcheol's hole. He can almost immediately feel Jihoon's spunk dripping, only for something warm and blunt pressed to his entrance.

Seungcheol gasps, unable to make a sound as silicon is pressed into his sensitive entrance, filling him up again – although it’s still not enough. The tip of the butt plug is nestled nicely against his prostate, brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves with every breath. He hadn’t even noticed Jihoon had that; he must’ve grabbed it while they were at the dorm.

“Your punishment,” Jihoon says coolly, tenderly wiping away Seungcheol's tears. He softens his statement with a kiss that steals Seungcheol's breath away. “Keep it in all night and I’ll let you come later.”

_Promise?_ Seungcheol thinks, but doesn’t say. He’s not sure his tongue still works. He might just stay here forever. What’s a tongue? He supposes that’s not important.

Jihoon's fingers tremble when they turn Seungcheol's head toward him. “Hey,” Jihoon murmurs, voice ruined. “You still with me, hyung?”

Seungcheol hums, hips bucking up against the butt plug even though it doesn’t do anything. His cock is still hard, still steadily leaking onto his bare stomach. He feels filthy – with Jihoon's cum plugged into him and his own pre-cum smearing on his cock and skin.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans, eyelids fluttering. “Jihoonie, baby – ”

“Shut up.”

Seungcheol can’t help the whine he lets out, nor the spurt of pre-cum that dribbles from the tip of his cock. Jihoon's lips curl into a smirk as he gently thumbs the pearly liquid.

“You’re such a slut for it,” Jihoon continues. He closes his hand around Seungcheol's cock in a loose fist, which makes it hard to concentrate on his words. “You make it so easy to break you.”

Seungcheol can’t help the displeased moan he lets out when Jihoon pulls his hand away. Jihoon stands, already pulling on his boxers and jeans that he hadn’t even bothered to remove while he was fucking Seungcheol.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing? Put your clothes on. We need to get back home for dinner.”

It takes a while for Jihoon's words to penetrate the heavy fog of arousal.

“D-dinner?” he sputters, leaning up on his elbows.

Seungcheol doesn’t dare think about how wrecked he must be, let alone the mess Jihoon left on him (and in him). His cock throbs at the thought of how debauched he feels. His legs slowly fall close, the rough fabric of the couch titillating to his hyper-sensitive skin.

“Yes, dinner.” Jihoon thrusts Seungcheol's clothes into his arms. “We’re meeting the others for barbecue.”

Despite everything they’ve already done, Seungcheol flushes. “_Jihoon_. You didn’t finish me off.”

“_Later_.” Jihoon's voice is sharp, leaving no room for negotiation. If Seungcheol wasn’t already hard, he’d definitely be now – just from the tone of Jihoon's voice. God, he’s so whipped. Jihoon's fingers are cool where he grasps Seungcheol by the jaw, grip almost tight enough to bruise. “Be good and I’ll eat you out.”

It’s unfair how Jihoon knows the exact thing to say to get Seungcheol's libido running in high gear. The humiliation of meeting the others, still filthy from sex and with Jihoon's cum plugged in him, is embarrassingly arousing. He’s not sure he can handle it.

(Jihoon will make him handle it, and he’ll love every second that he suffers.)

“If you’re good and don’t come,” Jihoon adds, “I’ll even ride you.”

“Fine,” Seungcheol grumbles, hands and voice shaky. He can take whatever Jihoon throws his way.

It’s not until two hours later, as dinner is winding down, that Seungcheol realises just _how much_ of a sadist Jihoon can be.

Seungcheol's in the middle of telling the ninety-seven liners a dumb story about his middle school days when he chokes on a word. He grips the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. Red creeps up his neck, staining his cheeks.

“Hyung?” Mingyu asks, frowning worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Seungcheol rasps. He grits his teeth, then clears his throat and offers the younger rapper a shaky smile. “Just choked on my spit.”

Mingyu chuckles. “You’re a mess, hyung.”

That’s rich, coming from the same teenager who smacked in the face with his own _hand_. Seungcheol ends up biting down on a retort as electricity shoots up his spine. The kids have started their own conversation, leaving him to deal with his traitorous body on his own.

His head swivels towards Jihoon, who’s sitting next to him, but is engaged in conversation with Jeonghan and Wonwoo. The producer has a hand on Seungcheol's thigh, but that’s not bothering him. No, it’s the fucking _vibrating butt plug that’s currently in his ass_.

“Jihoon,” he hisses, hand clamping around Jihoon's hand resting on his thigh.

In response, the butt plug vibrates harder before dying down again. Seungcheol barely realises he stopped breathing until he sucks in a breath again. Jihoon can be such a fucking _asshole_.

Jihoon takes his sweet time excusing himself out of the conversation. He turns to Seungcheol with a neutral expression, except for the devious twinkle in his eyes. Seungcheol wishes he wasn’t so head over heels for someone that loves to torture him.

“Yeah?” Jihoon says. He leans his head against his free hand, flashing the remote covertly hidden there. “Is there a problem?”

Seungcheol growls lowly. “Is there a – ” He nearly bites his tongue when Jihoon ups the vibrations again. “_Jihoon_.”

Jihoon leans in close, almost close enough to touch. It must be a testament to how they usually act that no one turns to give them a weird look. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling… a little bothered?”

“This – this isn’t… _fair_.” It’s hard to regulate his breathing. Seungcheol's sure he’s breathing too fast. He can feel a cold sweat building up at his temples, even though it’s boiling in the restaurant.

Jihoon squeezes Seungcheol's thigh, hand creeping higher and higher. Jihoon looks Seungcheol in the eyes as he maxes out the vibrations. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes look black; Seungcheol's glad to know he’s not the only one affected by their little game.

Fuck, Seungcheol can almost _hear_ the vibrations. There’s a wet spot on the front of his jeans, because Jihoon confiscated his underwear. He feels too hot, too aware of the chatter of their members and eyes that could be on them.

He hates himself for getting harder at how public they are.

Jihoon leans in close – his strawberry pink hair brushes Seungcheol's cheek. There’s something to be said about how the uniquely Jihoon scent of something earthy and woody sends Seungcheol's blood rushing.

“I don’t play fair,” Jihoon murmurs. There’s still a devious shimmer in his eyes as he says, in a louder voice, “Seungcheol hyung, you don’t look too good.”

The members turn, all eyes on Seungcheol. Seungcheol wants to curse Jihoon. His hands have started to shake as the pleasure builds and builds, impossibly strong. He’s not sure he’d be able to walk.

“I – I’m fine,” Seungcheol stutters. He can feel the rasp of denim against his sensitive cock. Fuck, he’s going to come in front of _everyone_. “I – I just – I’m good.”

Jeonghan frowns, leaning over the table to press the back of his hand to Seungcheol's forehead. Seungcheol jerks back, immediately avoiding Jeonghan’s gaze. Of all of the other members, he knows Jeonghan is most likely to figure out what’s going on just from the look in his eyes.

“You don’t have a temperature,” Jeonghan murmurs, “but you’re sweating buckets.”

“Like a sinner in church,” Jisoo adds with a smirk. Seungcheol shoots him a petulant glare. “Just saying.”

“I can take Seungcheol hyung back to the dorm,” Jihoon interjects sweetly. He hooks his arm with Seungcheol's; in the same breath, Jihoon lowers the vibrations so Seungcheol can _maybe_ use his legs. “He’s probably just exhausted. I’m beat too.”

There’s a heavy look exchanged between Seungcheol's fellow ninety-five liners. He knows they know he and Jihoon are fucking – not the details, because Seungcheol's a private person, but they know enough.

Maybe it’s too much.

“Take care,” Jeonghan says cheerfully, then proceeds to change the subject while Jihoon helps Seungcheol hobble out of the restaurant.

“You’re a menace,” Seungcheol hisses as they stumble into the dorm.

Jihoon laughs – a tinkling, wicked thing. His lips are back at Seungcheol's neck, a lot like the beginning of the night, but there’s a playfulness to his every movement. Still forceful, yes, but less angry. He moves like there’s a weight lifted off his shoulders and even with the ruined jeans, the humiliation and the fucking vibrator up his ass, Seungcheol is glad he could help.

Even if he’s pretty sure he has blue balls right now.

“You love it,” Jihoon murmurs. There’s amusement in his voice. His hands are roaming under Seungcheol's shirt freely, rubbing the sticky precum from their earlier tryst into his skin. “Get on the bed and I’ll eat you out nice and slow.”

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh. “Yeah? Maybe I like the plug more than you.”

Jihoon pinches Seungcheol's nipple, hard. There’s that flash of annoyance that Seungcheol loves to see. He loves seeing the fire in Jihoon's eyes. (It almost tricks him into thinking Jihoon cares about him _that way_.)

“Maybe I won’t eat you out anymore,” Jihoon retorts, “no matter how much you beg.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Why the hell not?”

“’Cause you love hearing me beg.”

Jihoon scrunches his face, then pulls Seungcheol down for a filthy kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. They crash into the hallway, Jihoon pushing Seungcheol against the walls so he can leave marks on Seungcheol's skin that’ll be hidden by clothes. Seungcheol finds himself shed of his clothes, his cardigan and shirt littering the hallway until they end up on Seungcheol's mattress on the floor.

“Get your jeans off and get onto your back,” Jihoon orders, lips brushing Seungcheol's the whole time like he can’t bear to _not_ kiss him. “God, you don’t know what you do to me, hyung.”

There’s a hint of desperation and something that runs deeper in Jihoon's voice. It almost gives Seungcheol pause, except Jihoon chooses that moment to turn up the vibrations again – enough that the buzzing can be heard in the silent dorm.

“Fucking sadist,” Seungcheol gasps, falling back onto his mattress as he tries to tug off his jeans and buck up against Jihoon at the same time.

Jihoon smiles against Seungcheol's panting mouth. “Fucking masochist,” he snickers. “Don’t worry, _hyung_. I’ll eat you out good enough to make you feel better.”

Well. Seungcheol's not one to deny himself the pleasure of Jihoon's mouth eating him out. The vibrations finally stop, leaving Seungcheol a little bit empty and a lot _sensitive_. Jihoon presses a kiss to the inside of Seungcheol's knee, hands gently prying Seungcheol's thighs apart so he can settle between them.

“Don’t worry,” Jihoon murmurs, tugging at the plug experimentally. Seungcheol sobs at the sensation, almost too far gone to feel Jihoon's salacious grin against his thigh. “I’ll make sure you’re crying by the end of the night.”

The plug isn’t very wide or long, but it still leaves Seungcheol feeling empty when Jihoon eventually tugs it out. Jihoon lets out a curse; Seungcheol wonders how it looks like, seeing his fluttering hole with cum still leaving out.

It’s enough to send Jihoon into a frenzy, his growl muffled by Seungcheol's skin. Jihoon licks up Seungcheol's fluttering hole in broad strokes, licking up his own mess. Seungcheol can’t keep himself still, squirming because it’s too much and not enough. He’s been held open all night, so all he wants is Jihoon's goddamn tongue in his fucking hole.

Seungcheol nearly chokes on a breath when Jihoon strokes his cock once before tightening his hand around his base.

“Don’t come yet,” Jihoon rasps. “I’m not done with you.”

Seungcheol blearily looks down, whining at the sight of Jihoon's head between his thighs. In the dim moonlight, Seungcheol thinks he can see the pink dusted across Jihoon's pale cheeks. Jihoon holds Seungcheol's gaze, even as he slides his tongue into Seungcheol's wet hole. It’s fucking obscene and Seungcheol's cock makes a futile attempt at coming.

It doesn’t take long before Seungcheol is sobbing, begging to come. Jihoon's taking his time, licking at Seungcheol's sensitive hole and fucking him with his tongue at his own leisure. If he thought he was hot before, it pales in comparison to the anguish he’s in now.

Jihoon's pushing Seungcheol right up to his limit of orgasm denial, then forces him to press further and further. He knows Seungcheol's body well – too well. He knows exactly what it takes to make Seungcheol come untouched, and does anything _but_ that. He teases and tortures, probably getting off on how wrecked Seungcheol is right now.

It doesn’t help that Jihoon eats ass like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. The groans that Jihoon lets out will probably remain in Seungcheol's head for weeks after, when he’s horny and Jihoon's too busy to be annoyed (and simultaneously fuck) him.

Fuck, Seungcheol swears Jihoon is even humping the mattress, just from getting to eat Seungcheol out.

“Please,” Seungcheol blurts out. His voice is hoarse, like he’s swallowed a handful of gravel. “Please, I can’t. I’m – I have to come. I’m good, I’ve been good. You _promised_.”

Jihoon pulls back, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. His pink hair is tousled from where Seungcheol hadn’t realised he’d been tugging. He looks well and thoroughly fucked already.

And then Jihoon stands and his jeans drop to his ankles. There’s a tent in his boxers that Seungcheol wants to put his mouth on (_something for another time_), but Seungcheol's pretty sure if he doesn’t come soon, he’ll actually combust.

When Jihoon's hands reach for the hem of that damned pink sweater, Seungcheol stops him.

Jihoon smirks, slow and wicked. “You like it that much?”

Seungcheol doesn’t verbally respond, but he imagines there’s something telling in the way his cock jumps.

Jihoon laughs, then pushes Seungcheol onto his back before straddling him. Seungcheol's breath catches in his throat; he’s finally going to get to come and he’ll probably cry, but that’s fine. Jihoon loves seeing his tears anyway.

Jihoon hovers over Seungcheol's cock, his own bobbing in front of Seungcheol's face – far enough that he can’t taste it. The head of Seungcheol's cock presses to Jihoon's entrance.

“Wait!” Seungcheol blurts out.

Jihoon freezes, a frown creasing his eyebrows. His voice is gentle and worried when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Are – you’re not prepped.”

Jihoon shoots Seungcheol a glare that makes him feel like an idiot. “Where do you think the butt plug came from?”

The whine that Seungcheol lets loose is both pathetic and weak, but that’s just so fucking _hot_.

Did Jihoon clench around the plug, thinking of Seungcheol's cock? Did he play with the vibrator, tease himself into hardness while imagining Seungcheol in the same position?

Jihoon leans over, his hair matted to his forehead while he whispers filth into the air between them. “I was wearing it all day.” Jihoon hiccups as the head of Seungcheol's cock slips into his entrance without resistance. “All I could think about was the look in your eyes when I came out of the dressing room.” Every inch Jihoon slides down is torture. The heat of Jihoon’s body is as intoxicating as the fluttering of his walls. “I’ve wanted your cock in me all. Fucking. Day.”

Jihoon slams down, fucking down to the hilt. They both moan, breaths mingling because Jihoon is still hunched over. It feels so good to finally have friction, and the fact that Jihoon's walls keep fluttering around his sensitive cock doesn’t make it any easier.

Seungcheol's hands are digging into the flesh of Jihoon's thigh, probably leaving bruises. (He _hopes_ he leaves bruises; a gentle reminder that he’s been there, that it’s Seungcheol who fucked him.) “Jihoonie,” he chokes out, “please move.”

Jihoon moans, rolling his hips once. “Fuck, I love it when you beg.”

Seungcheol doesn’t mean to, but the _please_s and _Jihoonie, fuck_s falls from his lips effortlessly as Jihoon starts up a steady pace that quickens with every breath. Jihoon looks like a god, bathed in moonlight with a face of utter bliss. Seungcheol is entranced, caught between the friction and Jihoon bouncing on his cock.

His orgasm creeps up on him. All Seungcheol knows is that one moment he’s appreciating the pretty O Jihoon's mouth makes when he manages to get his prostate, the next moment his vision is white and his back is arching off the mattress.

Jihoon, however, that gorgeous asshole, doesn’t stop. His hips still move steadily, the friction almost too much for Seungcheol's sensitive body.

Except… well, shit. He can feel heat pooling low in his belly, his orgasm still going on and on and yet going higher. Seungcheol can feel his nails digging into Jihoon's thigh, but Jihoon just leans down to kiss Seungcheol, even as a second orgasm consumes him.

By the time Seungcheol floats back to the world, he’s aware of a sticky mess on his stomach and words that make no sense coming from Jihoon's mouth.

(“Fuck, hyung, yes. Just like that, you’re the one for me. You’re the only one for me, I lov – ”)

The next morning, Seungcheol wakes up alone and sore.

Fuck, is he sore.

Seungcheol still feels sticky and disgusting, but he’s now wearing a pair of boxers he doesn’t remember pulling on. His blanket is pooled around his hips, hiding absolutely nothing.

He can barely roll out of bed, but the room is empty and there’s the scent of coffee and takeout wafting in from the kitchen. He stumbles into the kitchen, clad in nothing but boxers and marks leftover from last night.

Sure enough, there Jihoon is. He’s clearly freshly changed and showered, sipping on a mug of coffee and perusing his phone. There’s warm Chinese takeout sitting on the table in front of him. It’s disgustingly domestic. Seungcheol absolutely adores it.

“Good morning,” Seungcheol says, wincing when he hears his voice. He sounds like he swallowed glass. His throat is sore, but in the good way. (_Such a slut_, his mind whispers, in a voice that sounds a lot like Jihoon's.)

Jihoon smiles, eyes creasing as he holds out a mug of coffee – black, exactly how Seungcheol drinks his first cup. “Morning,” he replies. He sounds much more put together.

Seungcheol can’t remember much from last night, but he has an inkling that there’s something he should push.

Now, he doesn’t like to push Jihoon into anything, but he’s been half in love with Jihoon for years and if there’s even an _inkling_ that Jihoon might love him back, he’ll take it.

Seungcheol clears his throat. Jihoon's gaze rises from his phone, slowly trailing up Seungcheol's chest before finally resting on his face.

“About last night – ”

“Nothing to talk about,” Jihoon interrupts curtly.

“You were jealous,” Seungcheol says, forging forward anyway. When Jihoon doesn’t say anything, Seungcheol repeats, in a louder voice, “You were _jealous_.”

“So _what_?” Jihoon snaps. “So I was fucking _jealous_. Big fucking whoop.”

Jihoon is swearing a lot now. it usually means he _does not want_ to talk about this. Well, too bad for him that Seungcheol is a stubborn bastard.

Seungcheol sighs to himself, then seats himself on the table. “We’re going to talk about this.”

“Fuck you.”

“I _liked_ that you were jealous. It makes me feel like – ”

Seungcheol cuts himself off abruptly. It’s too early in the morning to bring this up.

Too bad he forgot what a stubborn bastard Jihoon is. “Makes you feel like what?”

Jihoon looks so _earnest_; eyes wide and lips pursed in a concerned frown. Seungcheol wishes he doesn’t want to kiss it away as much as he really does.

“Makes me feel like,” Seungcheol whispers, “you might care about me.”

Jihoon's mouth drops open. His hand clenches at his side, then rises to rest on Seungcheol's thigh. “I care,” he says quietly, with a guarded look in his eyes. “I care _so fucking much_. Of course I do. But I thought this was an arrangement. We fuck each other to let off steam and there are no… _feelings_ between us.”

Seungcheol stares into his mug. His mouth is dry.

“What if… what if there are? Feelings, I mean.” Seungcheol swallows. “What if I told you it wasn’t _just_ sex for me?”

Jihoon blinks. His grip tightens on Seungcheol's thigh.

Then, he lets out a bark of laughter.

“You’re fucking kidding,” Jihoon chuckles into his hand. “Fuck. I hate Wonwoo.”

“What about Wonwoo?” Seungcheol demands, trying (and failing) to keep the edge of jealousy out of his voice.

Jihoon quirks an eyebrow at him, smile playing on his lips. “Wonwoo told me I was being a dumbass,” he sighs, standing up. “I hate that he’s right.” His eyes dart to Seungcheol's lips. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Seungcheol perks up. “With or without tongue?”

Jihoon tilts his head. “Well, the kids are coming back in five minutes, so no tongue.”

Eh. Seungcheol can make do. He could always blow Jihoon in the shower that they’re definitely taking together later.

**Author's Note:**

> obviously i hate the idea of jicheol not being an item so that's why they're boyfriends in the end and i don't regret it. maybe i'll add in another thing to this series with a praise kink!seungcheol hmmmmmmm
> 
> anyways! if you love sin and the thought of seuncgehol and jihoon committing sin as much as i do, then feel free to hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/serraminiauthor) or [tumblr](http://minteayoongimakesmewoozi.tumblr.com/). if you're interested in my svt-centric writings then send me an ask over at [writing blog](http://svt-writers-club.tumblr.com/) uwu


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